


Performance Art

by Reignfinite



Category: Frozen (2013)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Emotional Manipulation, M/M, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-27
Updated: 2017-04-30
Packaged: 2018-09-27 07:43:45
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,039
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9983342
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Reignfinite/pseuds/Reignfinite
Summary: He didn’t want to take any chances. He’s been careless before.---Set after the events of Frozen. AU where Hans is imprisoned in Arendelle. Psychopathic Hans.





	1. Distrust

The prince shivered in the chill of the stagnant air in the cell. The bite of an ice storm was better than this. Better to freeze in it than to be caged, starved and forgotten like a simple animal. He was a _prince_. He deserved a sentence better than this.

He deserved better than this.

A sound in the distance reverberated throughout the almost-empty prison. _Creak_. Followed by the thud of heavy boots.

Strange. He’s never had visitors before. Not even the Ice Queen found the time to see how well they were maltreating the kingdom’s single prisoner. His two measly meals had been given hours ago and the third wouldn’t be provided until it was well past dark, if that tiny gap in the corner ceiling were to be trusted with time-keeping.

A burly but clean-shaven man emerged on the other side of the bars with a lamp in his hand. Blond. Tall, seemingly more from where Hans sat hunched but he knew it wasn’t so. Even without that anxious resolution on his features, Hans remembered this man.

They’ve met only briefly, but Hans knew hostile anger when he saw it. This peasant dared to hurt him, he remembered—or tried to before Princess Anna interrupted and took the reins in the same, unsurprisingly, barbarian fashion. It hadn’t been an important detail then. The impending threat of falling into still ice-cold water and his inevitable deportation back to the hellhole that was the Southern Isles were his primary concerns. It was hours after they decided that he should be punished in Arendelle for his crimes against it that Hans pondered the man’s role.

Hans had initially thought that the man was a mere peasant. Likely a wood or ice cutter, if his form was to be considered. One who worked in the mountains and knew them intimately, going by his gear and clothing. A loyal denizen who acted as his Princess’s guide.

Now he saw how much he missed—a rarity, but something he avoided as best he can. Instead of a peasant, the man who stood before him was garbed in aristocrat’s clothing. Hans realized he hadn’t seen the retaliation of a deceived denizen, he’d seen the eyes of a man seeking to avenge a woman he was smitten with—however unrequited it must have been.

Hans felt a vague tang of pleasure from that. It mixed with the distaste of being surpassed by a mere commoner into sovereign rank, and the bitter vexation of having been visited by this man of all people. However, this was a hopeful bud of opportunity that Hans needed to be careful with. And with everything he did, Hans, by nature, hid all these emotions behind disinterest.

When it was clear that the man wouldn’t speak first, the prince took it upon himself to break the silence. “What do you want?” he asked.

“Do you know who I am?” was the reply. Quick, like he’d been waiting to be addressed.

Hans blinked with furrowed brows and slowly shook his head. “No,” he huffed arrogantly. “I don’t. Should I?”

The blond was visibly insulted. He huffed as well, his massive chest and broad shoulders—only further accentuated by the brown double-vested coat with the pleated frills on the front. For a commoner, it must seem so uncomfortable. Hans narrowed his eyes and acted as if he was studying his guest. “You’re Anna’s new lover,” he said.

“Kristoff,” the blond said, with less smugness and more resentment than the prince expected. “And I’m her fiancé, actually.”

“Ah, yes. Anna’s new fiancé.” Hans gave a humorless chuckle. Kristoff. An unfamiliar name for a familiar face and hopefully with an equally familiar naiveté. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

There was a moment where Kristoff seemed to brace himself. Then a sigh languidly stretched his chest like relief. His tone was smug again when he spoke. “I wanted to see what the fuss was all about. Guess I was wrong to feel nervous about her ex-fiancé.”

It may have been the months of isolation or his quiet irritation at Kristoff’s position, but that had certainly evoked emotion within Hans he was unable to control until the last second. It was too late though. Kristoff had gotten a glimpse of his sneer. Hans was losing his touch.

Kristoff’s reaction, however, was everything he wanted. The blond looked at him like he’d only been proven right. That nothing but a cold-hearted monster inhabited the dungeons. Delicious disappointment laced that look. That, at least, Hans could exploit.

As the princess’ current fiancé turned to leave with a scoff, Hans brought his hands to cover his face. “I loved her,” he mumbled miserably into cold palms. The footsteps paused, then slowly approached his cell again. He could feel the bemusement underneath the disapproving glare.

“Yet you broke her heart.”

“I needed to keep her inside that room. To protect her from the Ice Queen.”

“Liar!” The accusation reverberated throughout the dungeon along with the ringing of the bars from the force of healthy fists encircling them. “You told the dignitaries that she was dead. You told them she was killed by her own sister when we both know that’s not true.”

“Did she tell you that I asked her to stay put and sit by the fire while I’d reason with the Ice Queen?” Hans said defensively, raising his head and lowering his hands. He met Kristoff’s distrustful gaze. “Did she tell you how she refused my pleas and insisted on traversing that storm instead?”

“You’re lying,” Kristoff said but Hans knew he was successful in planting the seed, tiny as it was. Uncertainty tainted that sure look. He only looked like he was trying to convince himself now as he shook his head and once again turned away.

“You won’t listen to me, I know. But at least hear this, has Anna been as reliant on you as you’ve been with her? Does she allow you to make decisions too or must she always take that burden upon herself?”

Kristoff walked away without any more words. Hans only allowed his smile to surface long after the heavy door had creaked shut and darkness had engulfed him again.


	2. Disrupt

There are nights when Hans is haunted by a past life. Of grandeur at the same time torture. Of power and of helplessness.

On those nights, Hans would be overwhelmed by an urge to curl into a ball in a corner not unlike a child. He would ignore that and stand in front of a wall and close his eyes instead. These moments were not so different from the same haunting nights at home, so he dealt with it the same way.

“Prince Hans of the Southern Isles,” he would state to the walls and to the bars. Confidently, loudly, as if addressing a crowd or a kingdom. “I am Prince Hans of the Southern Isles and I will one day rule as king.” And he would keep repeating it for hours until he was sure of who he was again.

:: o ::

Once, when a storm more powerful than the Ice Queen devoured the fjord, the dungeons filled with water. That day, Hans felt despair again after years of escaping it. The freezing water was already up to his neck and the cell was only high enough to house an unusually tall man. In retrospect, he had more time before he ran out of space to keep afloat, if freezing to death was not a much quicker alternative.

His mind worked at speed to look for escape but the water was faster. No matter how hard he tried or where he looked—not that he could see much in this damn darkness—he was trapped. As insidious thoughts of accepting this simple, insignificant end started to poison his pride, he heard creaking, then splashing, then he saw light flood the already flooding dungeon. Seconds later, Kristoff and a guard came into view. While Kristoff held the light over the water, the guard dove under, opened his cell and Hans was led out.

They locked him up in a tower within the hour—within minutes, really. He had not seen a glimpse of the Ice Queen or her sister on the way, and Kristoff and his escort handed him over to a pair of drier, warmer guards to show him the new accommodations. They gave him clothes to change into, warm broth and a glass of water—all of which he took gratefully.

An hour later, as the storm quieted—the eye, Hans theorized—he approached the window to appreciate the calmer winds. He was reminded of the tower at home that displayed coarse white sands and rich blue waters that curled high and sprayed hard. He remembered his room—smallest of all the princes’—that housed the same view, albeit at a lower vantage point. Even in his tower he could not be given the opportunity to at least reside in the highest room. It would have been a daily trouble, to climb up and down the stairs every morning and every night, but Hans would have appreciated the travel, the isolation, the silence.

One would think that as a prince, Hans would have grown up in an easy home. That his greatest troubles would have only been of minor nuisances like what to wear, which woman to bed or the lack of sugar in his tea. Or that social and political pressure would be his enemy in his highly sociopolitical world. In a sense, the latter was true.

Being the runt of thirteen sons put Hans in a constant fight not only for his social standing or to secure riches for himself, but for his life as well. Perhaps their status as royalty had made his brothers crueler. To be spoiled, to be powerful, to be entitled, and to know that all these could never chain them down to the consequences of their own actions. Even if their sins were to their own brother. If Hans were in their shoes, he doubted he’d part from the conformity. However, he was born last, and so he learned to deal with it the only way he could.

The turning of the lock made Hans turn to see who’d come to visit him this time. It was a much drier, more comfortably-dressed Kristoff. He’d brought with him a folded sheepskin blanket. “I, uh, brought this for you. Thought you might still be feeling cold after almost drowning down there,” Kristoff started, a hand rising to scratch at the side of his nose.

Hans stepped closer and took the blanket with both hands gingerly. This close, he could detect the scent of alcohol from the blond. It was faint—likely not enough to make the blond drunk out of rational thinking—but it was there. He wondered about it as he nodded in gratitude. “Thank you. You’ve no reason to bring me this, much less to save my life,” he said quietly. “All the same, thank you.”

Kristoff shrugged, an easy smile gracing his face. One side of his lips was raised higher than the other when he smiled, Hans noticed. He decided then that this amity was the mead’s influence in part. “You deserve it as much as anyone,” he said as he slowly made his way back to the door.

“Wait,” Hans called just as Kristoff reached for the handle. He met the blond’s gaze with one of conflict, one that screamed to divulge in confession. “Will you accompany me?”

There’s a few seconds where Kristoff just stared blankly at him, his guard raised again. Hans let it, figured then that Kristoff wasn’t inebriated enough and start building bridges with him. Was probably never going to, on both accounts. Then he shook his head and forced a laugh. “I apologize. I realize I have no right to request such a thing,” he said, visibly deflating as he turned away. In the corner of his eye, he saw the man open his mouth and raise his hand, as if reaching for him. However nothing was said, so Hans glanced back at him and said, “Princess Anna must be waiting.”

The sheepskin and stiff chaise lounge offered little comfort when Hans turned in that night.

 

_Hans’ little chest heaved as his fingers struggled to pry off the much bigger ones around his neck. No matter how far he kicked his feet or how hard, they could never reach his brothers. Their arms were longer than his legs, their wrath twice as powerful._

_“Gertrude told us all about your letters,” Rudi growled, his nose flaring as he tightened his grip on Hans’ neck._

_“The little shrimp took us for fools,” Runo grumbled from behind his twin. They are barbaric, more than any prince has any right to be. Hans could have easily believed they were adopted had he not seen the same fire in his uncle’s eyes._

_“No, I was only writing to her all about you,” Hans struggled to say between breaths. That, at least, made Rudi let go. He fell to his knees, heaving and coughing. Overhead, the twins shared a look and beamed._

_“Really? What did you tell her? Because if I remember right, your letter said something like…” Runo trailed off, a questioning lilt at the end of his statement._

_“Brutish, brainless oafs who shared the same face,” Rudi supplied._

_“That seems about right.”_

_“You’re mistaken! I didn’t write that letter,” Hans pleaded—and it was true, he didn’t—but they were already rearing their feet to send kicks his way. Raising his arms up wouldn’t lessen the pain, only add more bruises. They wouldn’t stop until they sated their wounded pride. He’d be bruised black and blue on his arms and legs, on his chest and sides, but not his face. Nobody else would see. His father wouldn’t know but he’d suspect and he would only shake his head in dismay. The look that he gave Hans as he did would haunt him even after a decade, even after he has sailed far from home._

 

Hans woke with a start. Chest heaving, heart racing, arms tingling with phantom pain. Just as he sat up to quell the sharp pang in his head, the door opened and Kristoff stepped in with a candelabra. This made Hans glance at the window. It was still dark outside. There were no clocks in here and his sense of time has been muddled by his time imprisoned underground.

Hans pulled the blanket tighter around his shoulders as he watched the blond set the light down, and sit on the chair he placed in front of the chaise lounge. Kristoff set a solemn gaze upon Hans, studied his sleep-worn face. Hans wondered if Kristoff could see the traces of the nightmare in the rigid line of his lips, the haunted look in his eyes. He wondered if Kristoff would exploit this, share it with his fiancé and her sister.

“You can stop looking at me like I’m going to murder you,” Kristoff said flatly. “I’m only here to ask about what you meant. Before.”

Hans’ brows pulled together. “Did you ask Anna what happened in that room?”

“Yes.”

“And she answered your question.”

“Yes…”

And Kristoff said no more, watched Hans’ reaction instead with a tinge of disappointment in his own. The prince’s frown deepened. “Then what are you talking to me for?”

The blond sighed, like he was exhausted. His body followed the action, dropping lower till he was resting his elbows on his knees and his head hung. “She’s pretty quiet about it,” he mumbled. “She did answer my question but she was… vague.”

“So you’ve come to ask me instead. Why bother? I’m not someone to be trusted, right?” Hans reminded him. If this man was so easily fooled, he’d be sorely disappointed. If Kristoff cared, he was at Anna’s level of foolishness. “Why listen to my side of the story at all?”

“Because I want to.” The reply was earnest, not sarcastic or flat. That relieved and puzzled Hans. He knew that this was a good thing for him, but the machinations of this man’s emotions sparked an interest. He wanted to see more of it. All of it. “And because I believe that everyone deserves a second chance. I want to help you.”

Hans studied the blond, gauged his sincerity. Felt discontent despite the fact that this was a one-in-a-million chance. Still, self-preservation overwhelmed the dissatisfaction. “You don’t truly believe I’ve got anywhere to go, do you?” He asked quietly. “A man like me… I’m better off locked away—”

“Anna told me about you,” Kristoff interrupted, voice strained. Then defeated, quieter, “She talks a lot about you.”

It took a moment for the information to register but the moment it did, Hans knew he had to change his approach. Hans can think of a few reasons why Kristoff would offer a chance for redemption however he wouldn’t be able to see which is true for the moment. “I don’t understand,” he simply replied.

An incredulous look from Kristoff, followed by a heated one. “What the— I’m saying, Anna still— she still loves _you_ ,” he gritted, hurt coloring his voice. “Look, I don’t know what it is you did—how you courted her, or bewitched her or whatever. But clearly, she’s not over you yet and knowing that while being with her is—” He finished with a frustrated groan and turned away.

Hans watched him as he paced to control his frustration. He didn’t understand why Kristoff bothered to tell him. It made no sense. Shouldn’t he be intimidated by all this, especially if Hans knew how much power he still had over Anna? This had to be a test of sorts. “Why are you telling me this?”

The blond paused in his tracks, his back to the prisoner. Hans eyed the rigid shoulders, the bowed head, the arched mass of his back. He waited. Outside, the staccato whipping of the winds patted the windows. A bit of the cold crept through the covers and right into his bones. He shivered. Hans distractedly thought of how unstable the weather was in this country—no thanks to the Ice Queen. It wasn’t very far from his homeland, but they’d never gotten abysmal storms like this in the Southern Isles. He wondered if home had seen the same storm pass too.

“I don’t know. I don’t even know if I can trust myself.” Kristoff’s words pulled Hans out of his thoughts. He turned and looked at Hans with a guarded, beseeching gaze. “So sell me your credibility, prince. Give me a reason to trust you.”

That peaked Han’s interest in Kristoff’s emotions further. “And why should I trust you?” Retorted Hans, his body tightening defensively, “For all I know, this could be an elaborate scheme to make a fool out of the man who made a fool out of Anna.”

“Okay, so you think we’re all like you, huh? Liars and tricksters. Don’t you drag her into the likes of you! She’s got nothing to do with any scheme against you. In fact, nobody is,” Kristoff defended, his darkened gaze an exhilarating sight for the prisoner prince.

“It doesn’t have to involve her to plot against me,” Hans clarified. “She may have no knowledge of this at all. It could be her sister’s idea. Or yours, since it seems she talks about me more than she might be loving you.”

Kristoff growled. His shoulders high, tense and rounded; his brows dropped over piercing eyes with a wild look in them; fists tightened on his sides; his overall stance transforming from collected to aggressive. The very picture of a mountain man, Hans thought with amusement and a sliver of fear. Then he started to stalk towards the Hans.

Without the protection of the bars, Kristoff easily lifted the prince by the collar of his worn prisoner’s apparel. This close, the scent of mead in Kristoff’s breath was stronger. He’d drunk just enough to be volatile, but apparently not enough to be gullible. “Here I am offering you a chance for redemption and instead you accuse me of plotting against you,” Kristoff snarled as he shook Hans. “What would it take for you to be a decent human being for once?”

Hans was being held up to his toes, his hands on Kristoff’s fists for both balance and resistance. He stared at the cognac pools directed at him with all of Kristoff’s frustration and aggression swimming within them. Hans felt no fear looking at them, only wonder that they were closer to study. But appearances needed to be kept. “I don’t know,” Hans answered slowly, quietly. “If you were in my place and I were in yours, do you think you’d readily accept my help?”

This seemed to put Kristoff at a loss for words. He tentatively let go of the prince, who hung his head and stared at the ground. Silence fell over them. Then he turned and left. Locked the door behind himself. Didn’t return to see Hans for months.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yey. It's longer.  
> Also apparently, the dungeon in this story differs from the movie. Elsa was trapped in a closed room, and here Hans has three walls of concrete and one of steel bars.
> 
> Feel free to comment, guys.


	3. Discomfit

Two months after Han’s incarceration, couple things were given to him. The first was a guard who would keep an eye on him in all the time he is outside of his cell. They said ‘castle guard’, but Hans had a suspicion that the man was more than that. He was very taciturn; raven-haired; and built more for speed than strength.

The second was the penal labor of maintaining the royal stables for a time. The work was not difficult, but for a man like Hans, his first day was awful.  He was primarily tasked to shovel manure into a cart that was later to be transported to the orangery and the gardens. Though that had been his only job, it was repugnant business. The stink of the dung stuck to his clothes and skin. His palms ached and calloused from gripping and scooping with the heavy shovel. His sweat dropped down his face, into his eyes, into the growing beard, and he could not wipe it away without scuffing his face with the coarse sleeve of his clothes.

It had been so very easy to whine, but Hans had no one to whine to. He disliked the idea of speaking to himself or vocalizing his thoughts so all his musings stayed inwards.

They hadn’t given him proper clothes and equipment until after three days. The smell of dung had clung onto his clothes by then. They claimed that he hadn’t asked for any—which was untrue. Hans had requested for work gloves and boots the day they put him to work. He figured he would see more of this treatment from then on.

In the days he worked, he listened to the common maids’ chatter or the groundskeeper’s grumbling. Some said Queen Elsa planned to pass her power and crown on to her sister, and in extension, to Kristoff. A lot of people worried about the couple’s capacity to rule, it seemed. From this, Hans assumed that the wedding must have already taken place in the couple months he’d been caged in the dungeons. This made him laugh. Anna may have yet to learn a lesson from marrying men she’d just met.

Other gossip surrounded Kristoff and his upbringing; how he had no official papers from birth; his reindeer pet and friend; how he might have an affinity to magic like the Ice Queen. Even stranger things reached Hans. For example, Kristoff’s being raised by trolls. The last one was difficult to believe and forget but there seemed to be much more talk of it later in the week that meant a lot of people have started taking it as a fact. Hans too was inclined to believe it. He has battled a snowman to enter a castle made entirely of ice. He could afford to think a little more fantastically.

 

The opportunity to plant another seed of doubt into Kristoff hadn’t arrived until a full week later. The man came to the stables with a reindeer in tow—and he was talking to it, with himself, if that made any sense. It was the strangest thing Hans saw, the display made further abnormal when the blond shared a carrot with the beast. Disgusting.

When Kristoff and his reindeer—Sven, as he called him—finally noticed Hans’ presence, they stopped and stared at him. “So they’ve given you work,” Kristoff started awkwardly before he then continued to walk his stag to its area.

“They have.” Hans put aside the shovel and wiped grime off his gloves, face scrunched. He looked up at the blond and raised an eyebrow. “Have you come here to laugh at me?

Kristoff reacted like he had just committed a crime. “What, no! No. I, I didn’t even know you’d be here.”

“You don’t have to hide it. I know Queen Elsa takes great pleasure in humiliating me with this punishment.” It was a half truth Hans assumed. What else could Elsa get from assigning him to such unbecoming labor? “I’m sure her sister must feel the same way—”

“Anna does not feel that way,” Kristoff interrupted firmly, his eyes morphing from apologetic to protective. He shook his head. “She doesn’t. I told you before how she feels about you.”

“Tell me why it makes sense for her to still feel that way. You believe that I almost killed her, don’t you? She believes that, too. So explain to me why she would still harbor feelings for me.” Hans turned to face Kristoff, chin raised and back straight like the monarch he aimed to be. “Sell me your credibility, future king. Give me a reason to trust you.”

The echoed words had taken Kristoff aback. He was quiet for a while, his simpering temper having dissipated into the late afternoon breeze—one that stank of dung, equestrian, and cervine apparently. Hans watched him regain his composure.

A throat was cleared from outside the stable. It was the guard. Hans knew that he watched him from a distance and would no doubt run after him if he tries to escape. It was one of the reasons why he forfeited any plans to do so in the first place. There was no use antagonizing anybody at this point, really.

Kristoff looked at the guard. “It’s all right, Arvid,” he told him. “I’ll see Prince Hans to his cell today.” The man looked surprised but he nodded anyway and marched away. Hans frowned at him and

 

“I, I don’t… You’re wrong. I’m not a future king,” Kristoff mumbled later once they had stepped through the heavy creaking door and into the cold darkness. Kristoff led the way down the stone steps as he was the one who carried the lamp.

“Really?” Now it was Hans’ turn to be taken aback. There was genuine confusion in his tone that Kristoff raised an eyebrow to when he glanced at the prince. The hostility and the defenses between them have somewhat been dropped now, replaced with an awkward, uncertain sort of silence. “I heard rumors. I thought you had been busy training to be a future ruler.”

He hadn’t expected a reply to that. Kristoff shrugged on shoulder and looked at the ground. “I was. I mean—I did, but it’s not something I want, really,” he confessed softly. “I mean it’s great that I don’t have to go out to harvest ice anymore. Living with Anna has given me an easier life, but it’s just difficult to get used to it.”

“They expect you to become king one day?”

“No. Maybe. I don’t know. I don’t even know where that idea came from. I’m sure Elsa can handle things on her own just fine.”

There was something unsaid about Anna’s capacity to lead there, Hans sensed. He wouldn’t be surprised if people felt that Anna wasn’t ready to lead an entire kingdom. She was too young and too naïve and Hans was a living reminder of that.

“What does Anna think about it?”

“I think she feels as apprehensive as I do. She knows I’m not the kingly-type. I-I’m not really meant to rule a kingdom or anything. Politics confuse me, and trade and commerce on a larger scale isn’t something I learned. Everything... it’s just overwhelming.” They stopped in front of Hans’ cell. Kristoff turned to face Hans fully. “Have you thought about it?”

“About what?”

“About accepting my help.” Hans remembered the storm, almost drowning, the tower. He remembered Kristoff’s almost-violent burst.

“You haven’t even told me what would happen if I accepted your help,” Hans replied. He crossed his arms in front of him. “Judging by your omission, it may very well turn out to be a burden instead.”

“That’s the thing. In order for this to work, you have to trust me,” Kristoff countered easily. “And you have to trust me all throughout this… endeavor I have in mind. No take-backs, that means no treachery or backstabbing of any kind. No lies.”

Hans held his tongue for a moment. So many things could go wrong, but so many doors just opened for him as well. “So the offer’s still on the table…” Hans mumbled, looking up at the other. Kristoff only stared at him imploringly. “Fine.”

:: o ::

Months passed. Hans remained free of any visitor in that time, even in the stables.

In that time, he had started wondering if he’d blown his chance. He wondered if Kristoff had finally changed his mind and decided that extending goodwill towards the prince was going to lead to disaster. Maybe Anna had found out about his visits and asked him to stop.

Understandable, Hans thought, but unfortunate.

Maybe he was finally convinced to look after the kingdom and had been taking leadership lessons all this time. Maybe he had bedded Anna and they’ve begun expecting a child. Maybe Kristoff simply forgot.

Too many maybes, too few rumors to substantiate any of them. Hans hated it. More so, he hated the fact that he felt disappointment from Kristoff’s absence. Loneliness, even, if he were to be honest with himself.

But Hans lied even to himself at times. The lie he used most to best cope was to believe that everyone was up against him. This was no different. Kristoff wanted his trust and he got his word for it. All that was left was for the right moment to use it against Hans.

:: o ::

The thought of careless vengeance didn’t cross his mind until the day he caught a glimpse of Princess Anna. He’d stood by the rear of her horse—the same one he rode on his ‘quest’ to find its lost owner or the Ice Queen—and had just straightened to rest his aching muscles from labor.

He felt eyes on him and when he looked at one of the large glass windows of the ballroom, there she stood. Partly hidden behind the reflection of the glass, watching him. They locked gazes. He wondered if she recognized him beneath the bush on his face and the longer locks, if she still saw the prince she first met despite the dirt and the rags. On her part, it seemed she hasn’t changed at all.

Suddenly, she turned away, seemingly because someone called for her attention. Hans watched her walk away from the window and felt the urge to scream, to kick, to punch. He couldn’t do any of that. There’s an unexplainable fire that rose from his ‘ice cold heart’ and it burned his skin, his veins, blurred his vision. Everything from his careful planning, to the love-struck acting, even to risking his life, to the moment when he was inches from titillating victory lit up a painfully bright portrait in his mind. So frustrated from being so close to attaining his ambition, only for it to be yanked out of his hands, he gritted his teeth and tightened his grip on the shovel. He fumed, and continued to do so until his duties were over.

As the prince was escorted back to his cell that night, he schemed. Made mental scripts of how he would address her when they met again. Or Kristoff, or the Ice Queen even. He came to wonder how she escaped that room he locked her in before. It would’ve been impossible for her to get out unless somebody else opened it from outside. Who could it have been? He vowed to find that person—the sole reason for Anna’s escape—and to eradicate him.

:: o ::

“Prince Hans of the Southern Isles. That is my name. Son of King Frederick VI of the Southern Isles and Queen Anne Catherine.”

The mantra did little to quell the man’s shaking. The nightmares were worse tonight. He licked his lips and held himself tighter. Sometimes it’s easy to imagine that in the dark space of his cell, someone else stood and watched him. Or something else. That their eyes trailed his every move and their ears picked up every hitch of every lungful he took. Hans hated his mind most when it prospected the possibility of spirits. On nights like these, morning took forever to arrive.

He looked at the little hole in the corner to gauge the time. Still too dark to be morning, yet it’s been too long for the night to not have turned yet. He shivered yet again from a chilly breeze—one he desperately convinced himself came from the holes in the walls.

“My name is Prince Hans of the Southern Isles. I am the son of King Frederick VI of the Southern Isles and Queen Anne Catherine. Destined to rule a kingdom one day…” he continued brokenly in the dark.

 

Arvid had come for him much later, found him lying on the floor and pressed against the corner wall. Hans ignored the guard when he opened the cell, and continued to ignore the guard when he hit the bars with the back of his sword, and when he grunted impatiently. By this time, Hans was convinced that the man was mute. The many attempted and failed conversations proved that.

When the stepped through the bars with his sheathed sword in hand, Hans finally moved to get up—more to avoid a painful punishment than spite, though he wouldn’t admit that. A piece of bread was shoved into his hands then he was towed out. He was barely given time to consume his breakfast before he was shoved into the stables that stank more than usual today.

Hans counted three horses bearing a foreign crest. He asked the new stable boy about them. Apparently Arendelle was opening up to new trade partners and was welcoming the dignitaries of one of them.

“Seems like they came from the south, too,” the boy added as he heaved a bucket of feed from one side of the barn to the trough. Hans’ blood ran cold. He looked at the prim beasts and at the cloth pieces hanging around their necks. The crest was unfamiliar to him, but it was not impossible for his brothers to have married into other kingdoms like he had planned to do. With the first in line as healthy as these horses, there wasn’t much else the rest of them could do if they wanted a kingdom of their own, really.

A servant called the boy’s name from the garden and he left hurriedly, but Hans barely noticed his departure. He didn’t want any of his brothers to see him like this. He knew they didn’t really care, so he figured they wouldn’t bother checking on him. He didn’t expect anyone from his kingdom to come here either, since trade with Arendelle was nonexistent. Neither kingdom offered the other beneficial products or services. Additionally, Arendelle was too far away and too small an ally to be of use to the Southern Isles.

Hans was pulled out from his frozen stupor when he heard deep and raucous laughter fill the air. It was familiar. Painfully so. His first instinct was to hide at the same time to stand firm and tall. In this condition, he could only do one to keep his pride and avoid more than the usual dose of humiliation. Hans dropped everything and ran.

He didn’t hear the guard’s shout or the light footsteps that followed his. He let his legs carry him far away from the stables, further from the laughter. He turned to where the gardens were and didn’t slow down until he reached the front of a small stone building. He bent over, hands on his knees and lungs heaving from the effort. A wind tickled his cheek. When Hans looked up, he saw that he had stopped in front of what must be a mausoleum. There was a metal slate next to the door with the names of the last king and queen of Arendelle. King Agnarr and Queen Iduna. Anna and Elsa’s parents.

For a time, Hans stood there and stared at the gold letterings. He wondered how his mother was faring back at home. Was she still only a queen by title and by name, with no true power? He wondered about his father and his brothers. Were they still feeding on the weak? He thought about his nephews and nieces, wondered if they would turn into another sorry generation of Westergaards.

Rain started to fall. First in heavy intermittent drops, then soon it poured. Hans stood there still. He closed his eyes, let his shoulders sag, let his head fall back so his face was to the sky. He let the water wash the grime and stink and thoughts off. Let them fall fast in thick rivulets down his neck, his arms, legs. Let it soak his clothes and chill him. He let the sound of the sky meeting the earth fill his ears, and let the smell of wet grass invade his nose.

Hans didn’t know how long he stood there. When he opened his eyes, someone was standing next to him, holding an umbrella. It was Anna, her copper hair flowing free to meet her shoulders and hiding her expression from Hans. He sucked in a breath, surprised to see her. He stepped away by instinct, his body not having forgotten the strength of her fist.

She sensed his movements and turned to face him with a sad smile. “Hello.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In the time between posting chapters 2 and 3, I have scoured, found, bought and finished the novelization of the movie. And all I have to say is this: god damn, was I off point. Nevertheless, I'm going to continue the story as planned.
> 
> I would also like to thank you all for the time you put aside for reading, for leaving kudos and comments.


	4. Disarm

Hans as a child learned to hide when he could and avoid confrontations. When he can’t evade them, he used words, not force. His brothers were stronger than him and he could never hope to compete against that. Additionally, they had the numbers. He was born last so he learned to deal with them the only way he could.

So he had to use something they didn’t: his brain. Hans was already a gifted child, only made more brilliant because he honed his skills in evasive strategies and scheming. In order to elude them, he needed to make distractions. Hans found out that the best distractions—those that even make them forget about punishing him for things he had no control of—were rifts between his bully brothers.

One of the best ruses he’d made was between the twins, Rudi and Runo. His brazen oaf brothers not only shared the same face, but they also shared the same taste. In clothing, in food, in entertainment sport. When they found a woman that roused their interests, Hans devised a plan that would ensure he was free of them for at least a week—at most, until how ever long the poor girl could endure their relentless, competitive courting. It was the best month in his eleven-year-old life. And followed were the worst three weeks.

It turned out, manipulating other people— _normal_ people—was different. The servants in the castle knew of the cruelty his brothers laid upon him. They pitied Hans. He hated it at first, to be pitied, to be patronized. But when he learned how much easier they gave in to his requests, it became his new tool.

As with any tool, the agency that pity provided didn’t last long once people started figuring out that Hans’ heart was just as blackened as his brothers. At the time, it was all the same to Hans. His image of self-worth wouldn’t grow any clearer if he continued to rely on other’s sympathy anyway.

:: o ::

Anna’s presence had a phantasmagoric quality. She stood there unlike the Anna Hans knew. Melancholic and peaceful. The absence of her clumsy vivacity and charming sweetness made her a stranger to Hans. Nevertheless, she was beautiful in this way, too.

“Hello.” Hans almost stuttered uncertainly. The rain was lighter now as the sky was clearing up. Hans had half a mind to fix himself, but the beard and the grime and the horrible garb he wore wouldn’t make any difference. So he stood straighter instead, confusion ruling the rest of his emotions.

“How have you been?” Anna asked, the umbrella shifted in her arms as did the way the water fell around her. She was looking at him shyly and Hans had to wonder if this was a dream. For the first time in a long time, his premeditated script-words were forgotten.

“I’m…” _not fine_. He isn’t okay or well or good either. He shook his head briefly and changed the subject. “I’m confused. What is this?”

He didn’t want to believe it. However Hans remembered Kristoff’s words and frustration from almost half a year ago. _Anna still_ _loves you. She’s not over you yet._ He wondered if it still applied. It had been so long, Hans would believe her even if she told him right now that she was over him. Their two-day affair couldn’t have affected her for what’s nearing a year now.

“A conversation, Hans,” Anna answered good-naturedly, her shrug bobbing the umbrella with her shoulders. “I thought I’d see how you were doing…”

“I don’t understand what you’re trying to do.”

She huffed impatiently and furrowed her brows. Then she took a breath before she continued. “I want to be your friend, Hans.”

He blinked. Had he heard right? Was Anna truly so foolish as to want more to do with him? To be a willing victim yet again? “Why?” He blurted out before he could stop himself.

“Because I can’t imagine how things are for you now. The dungeon, the stables…”

He wanted to snap at her, or maybe invite her to try his lifestyle for a day so she could see. Instead, he repeated, “No. I don’t understand. Why do you want to befriend me? After what I’ve done. Need I remind you of the deed that landed me a lifetime of imprisonment?”

Anna stared deeply, quieted. And then she _smiled_ at him. “I believe that everyone deserves a second chance,” she answered simply. Hans heard the phrase echoed in Kristoff’s voice from his memory.

He wondered if she’d lost her mind, and wondered again if this was all a crazy dream. If this is reality, he wanted to do this right this time. He’d been careless before. The proximity of his prize blinded him then. Not anymore, Hans promised himself. This was his second chance, after all.

Silence fell upon them both. It was uneasy and awkward. Hans truly did not know what to say. Never in his life has anyone offered him friendship. It had always been he who extended his hand to them first. It seemed Anna hadn’t expected that he would be speechless either.

It drew on. Hans struggled for something to say. Anna beat him to it. “If I’m going to trust you, you’re going to have to be honest. Deal?”

Hans looked at her. She stared at him hopefully and almost fearfully, though not with the kind of fear reserved for monsters, but with one reserved for men. Men like him, who used and abused. She didn’t know any better still, he realized clearer, as blue eyes continued to watch him.

He swallowed before breaking their gaze and bowing his head. “No,” he rasped. “No deal.” A righteous person might have agreed and promised to be better. An extremely guilty person would have rejected the offer and remained content with his punishment. Hans needed to be the latter.

Anna’s brows furrowed. “Why not?” She asked incredulously, as he expected. He offered no answer and she only repeated herself. She even followed him as he turned and began to walk away. He neared the end of the garden, but she reached out and pulled at his arm insistently. “Hans, why don’t you let me help you?”

“Because, Anna,” he gritted, seemingly hard at containing his frustration when in truth he was restraining the beginnings of glee. He turned his head away from her and kept it down in a perfect picture of utter shame. “I was desperate. I was blinded… And I almost killed you in the process. You and your sister.”

“Hans,” she said weakly, then repeated it firmly. “Hans, I know that… and I know why.”

The prince froze, heart skipping a beat in panic. What did she know? _How_ did she know? His mind raced at all possible explanations, at every false alarm he could think of and hope it is so. If she knew of his upbringing, of his true status at home, of how lowly they truly regarded his existence, she could destroy him. She wouldn’t know it—or maybe she did—but she could. Moreover, if she found out, who else knew?

“You told me before that your brothers could pretend you didn’t exist,” she started softly. “Hans, you were bullied really badly, weren’t you?”

Her words—despite her oversimplification of his case—shook his core, pulled him out of the calm objectiveness with which he saw the world and enclosed him in a self-induced cage of panic. It was a miracle he did not start growing pale or shaking yet.

He met her eyes again and he knew she saw unreserved terror in them by the way she moved closer to him, as if to offer comfort. He did not want it. He stepped back and she followed, her hand still clutching his arm.

He truly wanted to get away and it was not an act. He dreaded to hear the extent of her knowledge, but he knew that listening to it would be the best way to gauge how he should approach this turn of events. So Hans gulped, and he bowed his head again.

His wet, grown-out hair was a wall between them. He could not see her, and she could not see his face. He used this repose to lay down the implications of the guilt he supposedly felt, at least until he could find a way to know how much she knew and to use her knowledge against her. Grudgingly.

“You need help, Hans,” she said quietly, sadly. “I want to help you, if you’ll just open up to me… _Really_ open up to me. Show me who you really are...”

“I can’t,” he said thickly after a beat of silence, wherein he realized that the simplest answer lay in front of him. “Who I really am is disgusting and vain and ambitious. And I can’t help it. I can’t help who I am.”

“You can,” the princess persisted understandingly. She took another step closer and moved her hand from his forearm to his shoulder. She searched for his gaze, but he kept it firmly on the ground. “Hans, the people who make you think that are oceans away now.”

“That’s not how it works,” he pleaded with slight frustration. “You said it yourself. I’ve got a frozen heart. I don’t understand why you’re even talking to me. I should’ve been hanged for my crimes, Anna.”

“If Elsa could thaw the Winter, I’m pretty sure I can thaw your heart. I know it will take years, maybe even decades, but Hans, I believe you can be better. I know you can.”

“I don’t know how.” It was almost a forlorn whisper.

“One step at a time.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry guys. It's short and late because I got distracted a lot and I tried to bite off more than I could chew in terms of other stories and school and in RL.

**Author's Note:**

> Criticism is welcome. Let me know what you think. This is influenced by Riddelly's [ironfrost ](http://archiveofourown.org/works/1278331)


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